The Watcher: Power of Attorney
by Little Nothing
Summary: The second in my series of Watcher fics. Some patterns may be visible if you read the first too. I'm only posting a couple chapters first. I'll need reviews to continue...Come on people! Motivate me!
1. He's gonna fry

The Watcher: Power of Attorney  
  
"The Watcher is Off the Streets!" the headline exclaimed in bold, black print across the front page of the Seattle times. It went on to tell the harrowing tale of the police capture of " a shadowy threat to our wives, mothers, and daughters." The dark haired man holding the paper frowned, his forehead furrowed in thought. He studied the picture of the poor, disheveled man in the picture with the scraggly hair and wild eyes, the man whom the city believed had taken the lives of so many young women. The man who was really only guilty of one thing....Taking the dark-haired man's credit.  
  
For this man is the Watcher. This pale, gray-eyed man with long, shiny black hair and Gucci shoes was the scourge of the city and the terror in the hearts of its female citizens. He silently sipped his Rolling Rock, refolded the paper, and set it neatly on the bar. He glanced at the bartender, standing on his tip-toes to reach the volume button on the television bolted to the ceiling of the dank, musty bar. The reporter was talking about the Watcher. The man watched with great interest, masked by the casual nursing of his beer.  
  
Suddenly, a woman appeared on the screen. A beautiful woman in her early thirties with chestnut brown hair chopped sharply at her chin. She wore smart, black-rimmed glasses to match her smart black suit and set off by a blood red scarf around her throat. The caption under the lovely woman's face named her as the lead prosecuting attorney against the man labeled the Watcher. Bernice Sanderson. The man rolled the harsh name around on his tongue until it was as smooth as butter.  
  
"We have this vicious predator off the streets," The beautiful attorney said, looking directly into the camera. Her dark brown eyes seemed to connect with the man's gray ones, through countless tubes and antennae to right there in the bar. "The Watcher will never harm another woman, as long as I have anything to say about it." The media burst into a frenzy as Bernice stepped down from the podium, showering her with questions and comments.   
  
"Thank the Lord." The portly bartender said, turning to the man at the bar, "The Bastard's gonna fry!" The fat man said with a glimmer in his eye. He let out a hardy chuckle and turned back to washing glasses.   
  
The gray-eyed man pulled out a few dollars and laid them on top of the paper, on the poor, unfortunate soul who would "fry." A half smirk crossed his normally neutral face. To anyone watching, it would seem as if he had just heard an amusing joke. Which in fact, he had. 


	2. Nothing out there lives too long

Chapter 2  
  
MONDAY  
  
"Why the fuck can't I get my latte with extra foam and before it gets cold? Is everyone in the office so God Damned stupid?" Bernice paced, agitated, back and forth the length of her dark blue office. Her heels clicked madly on the floor except for the portion of her traffic pattern when she crossed over the Persian rug. Her right hand periodically flew to the bridge of her nose to push her black-rimmed glasses back into place. In her left hand, she clutched the file of information on the Watcher.  
  
The brunette bitch stopped mid-stride, crossed the room to her desk, and slammed the folder down on the mahogany surface. " Fuck this," she thought. She poked her head out the door and told her secretary that she was going to lunch. Bernice strode to the coat rack, ripped her calf-length blue coat off the post, and pulled it over her slim frame. She grabbed her purse off the chair on her way out, but was stopped in front of her desk by the faint call of the folder. She turned slightly to look at it. There it was, beckoning to her, taunting her, mocking her. She wanted to go to lunch alone, without the Watcher. No such luck. She let out a resigned sigh and picked it up. The folder was shoved violently under her arm as she left the office.  
  
Bernice sat alone at an outdoor table of Au Bon Pain, in the shade of a small oak tree planted, against all odds, in the sidewalk. The folder's contents were spread out carefully around her plate, filling up every inch of open space on the table. The middle aged couple sitting at the little metal café table next to hers did not seem to pleased with the various photos of strangled girls covered in their own blood in clear view, but Bernice didn't care. She had never been one for tact.  
  
As Bernice sat puzzled, her interest absorbed by the Watcher, she was unaware that she likewise held the Watcher's attention. He studied her intently from inside the restaurant through the huge plate glass window. He picked absent-mindedly at his blueberry muffin while she nibbled at her sandwich. After a few minutes of study, the dark-haired man lifted the camera that hung around his neck and snapped a picture of his subject.  
  
"What are you photographing?" an elderly woman asked, looking towards the direction his camera was pointed.   
  
"The tree," He replied, turning to face the white-haired woman. " I think its beautiful to find a bit of nature in this concrete jungle." He smiled warmly at the woman who nodded and smiled approvingly at him.  
  
" Well you might as well take a picture now. Nothing out there lives very long." The woman observed cynically as she picked up her coffee and headed out the door.   
  
" Indeed," the man said, his smile turning from warm to bitingly cold, " you're probably right." 


End file.
